


To Undress Our Names

by Whoareyou0000



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Finds Out About Merlin’s Magic (Merlin), Caring Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Caring Merlin (Merlin), Developing Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Implied Sexual Content, Intimacy, Jealous Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Jealous Merlin (Merlin), King Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), M/M, Merlin's Magic Revealed (Merlin), POV Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), POV Merlin (Merlin), Pining Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Pining Merlin (Merlin), Prince Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Protective Merlin (Merlin), Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Worried Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24029230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whoareyou0000/pseuds/Whoareyou0000
Summary: "...if two look at each other and see,to love is to undress our names…."-Octavio PazIn which Merlin undresses Arthur every day, in every way, throughout their lives.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 386





	1. The Proper Methods of Undressing a Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the TV show Merlin or the characters within. The title of this work comes from the poem "Sunstone" by Octavio Paz.
> 
> Author's Note: Hello fandom! I plan on having at least five of these Merthur vignettes, likely more, so I thought it best to split them up into a series. They will contain angst and romance along with some fluff and general Merthur snark. Other categories may be added, depending on what my muse dictates along the way. Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin sees a new and surprising side of Arthur when he undresses him for the first time as his manservant.

The first time Merlin undressed Arthur, his hands shook.

He struggled to untangle the thick leather belt, managing only to knot it tighter, catch it twice on the metal clasp, and initiate a well-earned eyeroll from his master. Finally, the belt fell away from the muscled waist and allowed the chainmail to drape loosely. He stopped, stared at the expensive strap as if it held the evasive answer to an unspoken question, and then peered up at Arthur who gave him the most royal scowl. 

“ _Mer_ lin, would you get on with it already? At this rate I won’t make it to bed until sunrise.” 

“Right, sire. I’ll just…” He carried the belt over to the bed, cast a questioning glance back at the prince, and set the belt down on the soft and newly washed blanket. Arthur rolled his eyes, lips turning up at the corners, and shook his head. 

“Don’t put it there! You’ll soil my linens.” He gestured vaguely to their left. “Over the dressing screen.” 

“Sorry, my lord.” Merlin snatched up the belt and did as as advised. Then he returned to Arthur, stared a hole in the prince’s chainmail shirt, and tried to recall his lesson with Gwen earlier. “Right, so I’ll remove this then.” 

Arthur sighed and bent down. For a moment Merlin thought he might be bowing, an odd gesture for a prince to a servant, and cocked his head in confusion. That moment lasted far too long, apparently, because Arthur bellowed from between his own legs. 

“What are you waiting for, you idiot? Take it off!” 

Merlin made a choice, dove for the neckhole, and tugged disjointedly at the heavy chains. The mail descended about halfway over Arthur’s head before getting stuck on his massive shoulders. Merlin tugged harder, Arthur squirmed, and the chains just clanged together with their own impatience. They brought the red fabric down with their heavy weight and completely hid the prince’s face. 

Merlin didn’t need to see Arthur’s expression to feel the rage beneath.

“Get this off me at once, Merlin, or you’re sacked!” 

Merlin caught his breath, flashed back to Gwen’s advice, and reached for the bottom of the chainmail. With one mighty pull he devested the prince completely and, miraculously, saved him from suffocation. Merlin released a bated breath before turning his eyes up to see Arthur standing completely bare chested with a wrathful glare. His toned pectoral muscles heaved and the skin on his torso flushed red as his crest.

“I ordered you to study the proper methods of undressing a prince, did I not?” 

Merlin stood stock still, clutching the armor and fabric in his sweaty hands. He forced his eyes to the floor as his cheeks warmed under the prince’s judging stare.

“Yes, sire. I did study. It’s just, well, I tend to be forgetful when I’m nervous. I’ll remember next time. Just don’t sack me...please.” 

Merlin felt the color drain from his face with his own desperate plea. Arthur watched him for a long breath, unmoving. His fists clenched and unclenched repeatedly, and his brow furrowed. Merlin dropped his shoulders and prepared for the worst. He imagined the droop of Gaius's face when he learned that Merlin failed at yet another task. He heard the hiss of the dragon at the conclusion that he'd chosen the wrong man for such an important destiny. Then, Arthur’s eyes softened. The prince's full lips relaxed into a malleable frown and he licked them once before releasing a defeated sigh. 

“It's fine.” Arthur gestured to the left with his head, blue eyes large and curiously kind. “Put the mail on the floor, I’ll talk you through the rest.” 

Merlin’s body warmed. With a curt nod and a thankful smile, he placed the chainmail out of their way and returned with renewed determination. Arthur met his eyes from beneath heavy blonde lashes, gripped the bed’s footboard with one hand, and gestured to his feet. 

“Remove my boots first.” 

Merlin lowered to his knees and focused on the leather footwear. They practically molded to the prince’s feet and mud caked their bottoms from the rain the day before. Merlin licked his lips, breathed, and took the left boot in hand. He tugged gently at first, casting furtive glances up at the prince, and then twisted them a bit with no progress.

“Harder. You won’t hurt me.”

He put more strength into his efforts, pinching the leather in the looser spots and guiding it around the appendage beneath. Finally, it began to slide. Arthur flexed his foot within the boot, holding their eye contact through every torturous movement, and then it pulled free. Merlin threw a genuine smile above, met with an encouraging nod, and then turned to the other boot. That one, subjected to the same administrations, slid into his hands in no time at all. Merlin took the boots and placed them near the rest of the discarded clothing. 

“Up now.”

Merlin stood before Arthur, beholding the half-naked man, composed entirely of toned curves and tempting hollows, with slow-growing confidence and a strange tingle in his stomach. Then Arthur took Merlin’s nervous hands in his strong grip and placed them at the laces of his trousers, sending a fresh wave of warmth to Merlin’s face. 

“Do you know how to untie a bow knot?”

“I believe so, sire.” Merlin swallowed and grazed his fingertips over the fine strings. He worked them in between the strong knot, fighting the urge to use his magic, and plucked at the proper thread to loosen the ties. It took a few tries, his fingers sweaty and clumsy under Arthur’s watchful eye, but he managed to hook his nail under the waiting strand and disentangle it from the rest. The laces pulled apart almost immediately and loosened the trousers. 

He made the mistake of looking up in time to see Arthur’s eyes turn the striking shade of a moonlit lake. The prince’s jaw slacked, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. Merlin’s whole body tensed and warmed as the trousers dropped over Arthur’s hips and slid down to his ankles, leaving the man bare minus his braies. Merlin's heart pounded and the strange tingling returned. Suddenly needing a distraction, he crouched, gathered the fabric, and reverentially lifted Arthur’s bare feet, one by one, out of its hold. He took in the floor with feigned interest, urging his body to cool and relax, and then stood with the trousers in hand. 

Slowly, he raised his eyes to his prince and blinked away all evidence of his heat. The prince blinked too, seemingly recovered, and moved his mouth in search of words. When he found them, they came out forced and husky.

“I suppose you’re not entirely hopeless after all, Merlin.” He turned away and cleared the thickness from his throat. “Now, let’s work on dressing.”


	2. A Mere Servant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the events of The Labryrinth of Gedref, Arthur finds his servant in a sour mood. He prods until Merlin breaks and unleashes his true feelings about Arthur's intended sacrifice.

Merlin tugged roughly at the leather shoulder strap from behind, eliciting a grunt from the man still covered in metal plates. 

“Hold still.” 

“I _am_ holding still.” Arthur jerked his head back towards his idiot of a servant, sweaty blonde hair sticking uncomfortably to his forehead, and glared. “You’re the one wrestling my armor like a bloody boar.” 

Merlin shook his head, the strap finally free, and moved onto the prince’s other shoulder with the same uncharacteristic roughness. Arthur swore he caught the tail end of a snarl as the servant unlatched that plate with ease, dropped it to the floor, and then advanced to the right gauntlet. His lean fingers moved so effortlessly between the buckle and the leather in a contradiction to his frenzied ire. Muscle memory, Arthur thought, like the way his own body responded in battle. Except Merlin’s muscles polished, fixed, took apart, and put back together everything in Arthur’s world.

Now Merlin was upset, and Arthur knew, from experience, that his world wouldn’t be put back together until he fixed Merlin.

“Whatever is wrong with you now, _Merlin?_ You’re always a bit of a moody girl, but sometimes I truly think nothing will make you happy.” 

Merlin scoffed loudly and arrogantly at Arthur’s forearm and moved on to the next strap on the gauntlet. Arthur recognized this expression- the leaden eyes receding into hollowed dark circles, the pinched lips tightly compressed into a muzzle barely strong enough to restrain his bite. Fully intent on unleashing the snarling beast, Arthur gave his most taunting snort. 

Merlin’s fingers clenched around Arthur’s forearm, fighting against the gag. 

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be happy about you willingly drinking poison? I can’t imagine what’s wrong with _me,_ sire.”

Arthur laughed and held his crooked grin. All attempts to meet Merlin’s eyes went unrewarded, as the younger man removed his gauntlet and dropped it in the growing pile of metal on the floor of his chambers. He stuck his other arm out and Merlin attacked the straps, their usual dance. 

“Are you honestly cross with me for saving your life? Only you, Merlin, could be so ungrateful.” 

The servant stilled, fingers lingering upon Arthur’s arm, and raised eyes dark with fury. A chill descended upon his chambers. Arthur’s heart pounded as if about to go into battle, the muzzle’s fastenings breaking one by one. 

_“Look out?”_ Merlin’s voice echoed across the walls of Arthur’s chambers. “You told me to look out as if it were some kind of joke? You could have died, Arthur, and you dismissed me like a child instead of allowing me to help. You want so badly to be a hero, but you’ll never have that chance if you die over a mere servant.” 

_A mere servant._ The enormity of those words hit Arthur like a mace to the chest. Merlin didn’t fall into that category. He certainly did not belong in between Arthur and certain death. Merlin was _Merlin,_ a title all its own, and the thought of losing him tied Arthur’s stomach into a rather unpleasant knot. 

Arthur swallowed those truths, briefly digested, and met the waiting man with a calm and sensible retort. 

“I saw one solution, Merlin, and it worked. The curse has been lifted, the kingdom is safe, and we’re both alive. In war, we’d call that a victory.” Merlin released the gauntlet’s remaining strap with gentler fingers. Then Arthur threw a final bone and broke the muzzle in two. “Besides, it’s not my fault that you’re so entirely gullible.” 

That did it. Merlin squinted eyes rimmed in fire, ripped the gauntlet from Arthur’s arm, and stomped towards the pile of metal littering the floor of his chambers. The prince fought the urge to hug his arms against his chest at the abrupt loss.

“Nor mine that you’re too pig headed and supercilious to consider how much the people of this kingdom need you, how much Albion needs you, how much I...” 

The abrupt pause cut into Arthur, briefly paralyzing the prince. A chill occupied the empty space between them. Seeking out that missing warmth, he took several involuntary steps in the direction of his servant and waited with raised eyebrows as the younger man crouched down to gather his armor. 

_“Supercilious?_ ” Merlin loudly clanged the metal together, ignoring Arthur. That wouldn’t do, of course, so Arthur poked his boot against Merlin’s behind. “You’re making up words again, I see.” 

Merlin shot into a standing position, half the armor hanging haphazardly from his arms. His face burned red as he clamped his verbal jaws on Arthur.

“It’s a real word _and_ it describes you exactly. Supercilious is what you are, and it makes my job considerably more difficult.”

He crouched down to gather the rest of the armor with a body so tense that it looked pained. Arthur, never good with emotions of any kind, clenched his jaw and reached deep. He dug a question and a threat from his limited responses. 

“What job is that, then? Mucking out my stables? I should order you to do that anyway as punishment for speaking disrespectfully to your prince.” 

“No.” Merlin stood with the armor in hand and faced Arthur. Those blue eyes burned behind a layer of wet. His lips quivered against the threat of crumble. Arthur understood at once that anger did not alone fuel this war of words. “Saving your life.” 

Arthur’s arm shot out, gripping Merlin’s sleeve and holding him in place. He held those eyes with an intensity to match, daring Merlin to break. He didn’t, not even when his mouth collapsed into a quivering frown and his nose sniffled against pending tears. The sight broke Arthur. Arthur who pulled Merlin just a little bit closer and raised his eyes to the boy utterly trembling with suppressed emotion.

Then he reached further inside to the place reserved for unspoken truths. 

“Be angry with me. Punch me if you like, I won’t even put you in the stocks. It won’t change a thing. If ever there comes another day when your life is in danger, I will still put my own on the line instead. None of your absurd nonexistent words will convince me to do otherwise.” Merlin tried to look away. Arthur tugged on his sleeve and forced his attention, needing to make something else clear. “If we’re so eager to die for each other, then I suppose we’ll just have to fight it out when the time comes. Is that fair?”

Merlin swallowed, breathed, and shifted the armor. Then he raised glassy eyes, now much calmer, and gave a subtle nod. Through a curtain of black lashes, Merlin rolled his eyes and submitted. 

“It is a real word and you being a complete cabbagehead doesn’t make that any less true.” 

Arthur snorted a laugh and bowed his head. Finally, he dropped his hold, trailing a finger up the rough fabric of Merlin’s jacket and gripping a boney shoulder. He nudged Merlin gently and savored the hesitant smirk gifted in return. 

A sure sign that his world would hold together for another day. 

“We can discuss that further while you’re polishing my armor.” Merlin shifted, the metal suddenly dwarfing his boney frame. “Leave it here and go fetch the supplies. I may even save you a honey cake.” 

Merlin, being Merlin, dropped the heavy plates to the floor with a loud clang and a blooming smile. Arthur simply shook his head, unable to stop his lips from curling upwards at the corners.

“Aye, _my lord._ ” 

Merlin pulled the door open with renewed purpose and nearly disappeared when another thought escaped Arthur’s tightly locked reserve. Suddenly, he couldn’t go another moment without Merlin understanding. 

“Oh, and Merlin?” 

The black-haired boy poked his head back in with a raised eyebrow. His face set in quiet acceptance, cheekbones still flushed from his outburst, and his lips parted in wait of his next order. All at once Arthur realized that his annoying, idiotic, sensitive servant boy held more loyalty to him than any noble in the land. 

The knot in Arthur’s stomach slowly untangled at his next utterance of truth. 

“You’re not a _mere_ servant, you’re _my_ servant, and that means something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own the show or any of the characters within. 
> 
> Author's Note: Thanks for reading and commenting, fandom! I really didn't intend to dive into something else so quickly, but plot bunnies are persuasive creatures and they get rather threatening when not fed.


	3. She’s Not the One I Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his anonymous victory in The Once and Future Queen, Arthur ponders Guinevere's lessons on his behavior. Merlin takes care of his prince physically and emotionally, as a manservant should, burying his own growing affections.

“I’m quite proud of you, you know.” 

Arthur snorted into his shirt as it slid awkwardly from his contorted body and into Merlin’s waiting hands. Blonde hair stood up at all angles as the prince returned to an upright standing position and favored his injured side. He screwed his lips obtusely, a clear attempt to cover up his painful wince. Merlin sensed the roll of those royal eyes even with his back turned. 

“I’m hardly in the mood for one of your girlish prattles, Merlin.” 

The servant gave a thinned lipped smile and carried the clean red nightshirt over to his bare-chested prince. The older man scoffed and refused to meet the younger’s eyes. The pinkening of his cheeks did not go unnoticed by Merlin, who’d grown used to his emotional constipation. 

“I mean it, Arthur.” A gesture of Merlin’s head sent Arthur down to a bow again. He raised the nightshirt and carefully slipped it over the bandaged side. If his fingers lingered lovingly over the wound, neither acknowledged it. “It was kind of you, allowing William to take credit for your win. A man of his standing, well, he won’t likely experience such glory and recognition again in a long while. Maybe ever.” 

Arthur stepped back, leaving Merlin’s unfinished hands to smooth his own sleeves down his arms. His eyes trained to the floor in an elaborate about face that led him away from the servant and across his chambers to the window overlooking the square. Merlin studied him from afar, the curve of his muscles created a breathtaking silhouette against the moon’s warming light. He leaned slightly to the right, favoring his injured side, and allowed a single beam to pass through into the dark chamber. Clutching his left arm close to his chest, Arthur ran a careful thumb over his elbow and released a haggard sigh. 

“Yes well, Guinevere informed me that I’m a spoiled brat who thinks of no one but myself.” 

Merlin couldn’t stifle the laugh, or the lip-biting smile that broke through when Arthur sent him a sideways glare. He approached his master cautiously, holding a span of soft white cloth at his chest like a shield. 

“Gwen fancies you, Arthur.” Merlin wrapped tense fingers around the fabric. “She only speaks so directly to those she admires.” 

Arthur turned around silently and ducked just enough for Merlin to measure the cloth from his waist to his shoulders. Then Merlin moved behind the prince and looped the fabric around to create a sling. Once satisfied with the tautness, he tied it just tight enough and took care not to capture the soft blonde locks at the base of Arthur’s neck. 

“You seem to fancy her too.” Merlin swallowed a lump and willed his voice to remain jovial and light. “I’ve never known you to offer to cook for anyone. Probably best you didn’t, by the way. A stomachache is hardly the way to a girl’s heart.” 

_“Hold_ on…”

One sharp tug elicited a wince from Arthur and set the sling in place. 

“Let's see your arm, dollophead.” 

Merlin returned to the prince’s front, pushed the shirt sleeve back up, and lifted the affected appendage with gentle hands. He blinked his calculating physician’s eyes into place and quietly examined the tight muscles one last time, massaging the surrounding skin with a muted hum. Arthur’s serious eyes burned holes in Merlin’s scalp. He did his best to ignore the hopeful bloom they created in his stomach.

“Guinevere is a lovely woman and she’ll make a wonderful friend. We’re not right for each other in any other way, I’m afraid.” Arthur’s stomach expanded with his breathy confession. Merlin exhaled too, tension melting from his shoulders, and tried not to find relief in those words. 

“Because she’s a servant?” Merlin probed both the injury and the man, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from above. “Do you really feel that matters?”

“To my father, yes, but not so much to me. I wish to marry for love and Guinevere, well, she’s not the one I love.” Arthur’s skin flushed. Merlin’s cheeks followed. He channeled his nerves into his fingers, worrying a knot in the prince’s bicep. The moment lasted for several haggard breaths before Arthur intervened. “She was right, though. I’ve only ever considered my own needs. I don’t have the first clue regarding how my people live.” 

“No one expects you to know everything, Arthur.” Merlin relaxed his hold on Arthur’s bicep, pushing aside his rising optimism, and smoothed his heated skin down with a feather touch. “You’re learning. By the time you’re king you’ll understand.”

The silence thickened. Merlin sent a gentle smile up and found blue eyes probing him, dark with intensity. Merlin’s lips fell and his throat tightened under the pressure of that stare. He swallowed, blinked, and took a gulping breath before awkwardly returning to his task.

Leaving Arthur’s crushing gaze, Merlin cradled the strained arm between them like the most precious and delicate treasure. He used his free hand to manipulate the prince’s fingers, bending each one back gently to ensure that the tendons remained undamaged. Arthur’s breathing hastened at each extension. He leaned closer in until his exhales displaced the fringe on Merlin’s forehead and sent shivers through his body. Merlin fought to remain focused on his task, failing at once when Arthur brushed his wrist with a wayward pinky.

“Am I hurting you?” 

It came out choked. Arthur’s mouth quirked into a teasing smirk. 

“Not likely. You’ve the delicate grip of a princess. Which is a wonder considering how hard I work you.” A glimmer passed behind Arthur’s eyes. “Maybe I should have you scrub my floors more often to toughen you up.” 

Finished, Merlin created a pouch from the fabric and laid Arthur’s arm inside. He balanced it between their bodies and met Arthur’s banter with a challenging stare. They stood that way for a long moment, closer than should have been comfortable for two men who absolutely could never be more than a prince and his manservant. Merlin accepted this brief exchange of warmth, this intimacy that he shared with no one else, and pocketed it. Another patch for his metaphorical comfort blanket. His lips drifted into a naturally daring smile.

“Fine, go ahead and work me to death, clotpole.” Laughter filled Merlin’s voice. “You’ll be sorry when there’s no one to save your royal ass the next time someone tries to kill you.” 

“Right, who else will cower behind a tree while I do the real fighting?” Arthur grew a toothy grin and held his arm close to his chest. Satisfied, Merlin spun and walked, picking up pieces of discarded clothing on his way to the door. 

“Where are you going, _Mer_ lin? I don’t recall dismissing you for the evening.” 

Bare feet padded across the stone floor in Merlin’s wake. He stopped at the door and turned to see an eager prince only an arm’s length away. The wrinkles around those blue eyes betrayed the deeper fears that lay just beneath the baited humor. Merlin swallowed his nagging and impossible desire for this man, gumming the familiar bitter taste, and submitted to a rare moment of vulnerability. 

“The people love you, Arthur. They’d be mad not to.” Arthur stopped, listened. Merlin allowed a real smile, a sad smile, to pass his lips. “You’re their once and future king and they’ll be more than happy to show you themselves, their lives, should you only ask.” 

Arthur froze, his throat visibly working, and pursed his lips. The pink returned to his cheeks and their bantering gave way to a comfortable silence. This gifted Merlin just enough room to escape. 

“Now I’m off to wash your disgusting socks before they suffocate us both.” He opened the door just enough to squeeze through and kept his heavy eyes forward. “Good night, prat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or its cast of characters. No money made here. 
> 
> Author's Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! I love to hear your thoughts. This one came out a bit shorter, I think, but I milked it for all I could without needlessly hearing myself write. Does that make sense? Maybe not. Anyway, happy reading!


	4. Releasing the Noose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the dragon is slayed in The Last Dragonlord, Arthur assesses the damage to his kingdom and his manservant. Sensing Merlin's need for comfort, Arthur obliges in a move that will permanently change their relationship.

Arthur’s body slumped at the loss of adrenaline. 

Safely in his chambers, his loyal servant by his side, he allowed his sullen mind to wander through the crumpled ruins of Camelot and the charred corpses that littered her borders. Many of them had been knights, valiant and devoted. They’d died on his command fighting an unbeatable enemy, while Arthur remained intact and no closer to death despite his own blatant self-sacrifice. 

If he found a light within the darkness, it was Merlin’s still breathing, still surly, figure bustling around in the routine he’d grown to depend on. That stupid, brave boy had taken on a dragon and gone and made Arthur love him more, if possible. While he'd normally deny this feeling, even to himself, he hadn't the strength to refuse the comfort of its embrace on a day filled with only pain. He raised curious eyes to Merlin and wondered what comforts this boy, who moved his tired body like a sack of grain through every arduous step of Arthur’s undressing, had on offer.

Merlin circled the prince’s still form, loosening, lifting, pulling, and removing without hestitation. Each sweaty, charred, and bloody layer released another weight and relaxed another aching muscle. His lungs released a long-bated breath just as Merlin revolved to his front and gripped the bottom of his chainmail. 

Their eyes met, Merlin’s red-rimmed and failing to hide a sadness that penetrated to Arthur’s bones. Wordlessly, the prince bent forward and closed his lids. The chains slid over the bare skin of his neck and face with a cruel slap of cold. He rode out the unpleasantness easily, it hardly comparing to the clenching happening within his gut at the memory of Merlin’s bold declaration. 

_I know it’s hard for you to understand how I feel._

That half confession, cut off by the urgency of yet another moment of truth, hung between them like a noose awaiting a willing victim.

Now armored in only a thin cotton shirt and trousers, Arthur followed Merlin around the room with his eyes. The servant placed the chainmail amongst the growing stack of metal, pausing on the floor to catch his breath. He moved languidly and swallowed something thick and acrid before he returned to lift Arthur’s soiled shirt from his torso and tossed it aside. Arthur’s shoulders sunk at their loss of protection and his heart rebelled at its vulnerability. 

Arthur lifted his gaze as Merlin untied the laces of his trousers, eyes down and focused as always during this portion of their daily routine. Those long dark lashes brushed over bottom lids and followed the careful movements of nimble fingers. The plump lips trembled. A halting inhale drained the color from his face, leaving those cheeks hollow and concerning.

Arthur’s arm lifted on its own accord and clasped Merlin’s boney shoulder. The servant sent him a questioning glance, blue eyes darting back and forth nervously. Arthur’s lips formed a calming smile and he dragged his thumb carefully over the bare smooth skin between Merlin’s tunic collar and neck. 

Arthur moved his lips, producing no sound. The words rested so comfortably beneath his tongue. They’d made their home there over the years, a safe and warm place where they would never have to meet the threat of rejection. Even faced with certain death, they’d hidden themselves away behind a shield of insults and friendly teasing. It was Merlin who thrust his sword, spoke his truth, even if only the beginning of one. 

For the first time in his life, Arthur questioned his own understanding of bravery. 

The prince huffed his own frustration. Then those hesitant blue eyes tracked back and, finally, accepted Arthur’s invitation with a tentative smile and a sniffle. Arthur’s gut immediately unclenched as he was pulled into Merlin’s lake of emotion. His breath quickened; his pulse raced. The waters reached depths far beyond Arthur and Merlin and their decidedly impossible yet undeniable feelings. They carved out trenches of defeat, grief, and loneliness of which Arthur understood every night when he dismissed Merlin and climbed into his bed alone. 

He couldn’t be sure why those feelings bloomed within Merlin. Whether it was Balinor’s death, the destruction of Camelot, or their near-suicidal battle with the dragon. He suspected Merlin would not be so quick to tell and, oddly, he did not feel the need to ask. 

For he knew that comfort need not come from words.

Arthur closed his mouth and licked his dry lips. Merlin had long finished untying his laces. Now the trousers rested loosely upon the prince’s hips and Merlin’s fingers squeezed the loose strings like a hanged man grasping his own noose.

That decided it. 

“Will Gaius be in tonight?” 

The whispered words barely left his lips. Merlin’s eyes narrowed, his flapped his mouth, and then gave a subtle shrug. His response sounded thick and foreign. 

“No, sire. He’s sleeping in the infirmary to monitor the wounded.” 

Arthur nodded, quietly summoning the nerve to step up and place his own head through that hangman’s knot. His feet grew courage first and gravitated closer until their breath intermingled. The air sizzled between their bodies. Arthur’s hand strayed up and over the cool bare skin and hooked around Merlin’s neck, his thumb playing with the tuft of hair at the base. Merlin leaned in until their foreheads touched, his wet eyes bursting with longing.

“You shouldn’t be alone. Stay.” 

“Arthur…” The breathy word ran up the prince’s spine like a dragon’s scorching tongue. “You know we can’t. You're to be a king and I won't...You don’t understand what you mean to me…”

“I do…understand.” He chanced a twinge of his lips, almost too nervous to be called a smile. Merlin responded in kind. “Just…just stay the night. Just be with me until morning. I’ll ask no more of you.” 

Merlin sniffled, his eyes brimming with unstated feelings that Arthur wouldn’t prod, not tonight. He understood one feeling, though, and it belonged to them both. Then the servant lowered his gaze to the floor, exhaled his reluctance, and returned with a sparkle of humor to hide his quivering voice. 

“I fought a dragon with you, you royal ass. Now I have to protect you from the dark, too?”

“Hardly.” Arthur snorted, his fingers moved away from the thick, soft hair on the back of Merlin’s head and cupped the warm cheek. “You’re surprisingly brave, Merlin. So much so that I sometimes forget that you’re not a knight, that you and certain death are still strangers. You're hurting and I wish to help. We can call it comfort between friends, if you'd rather.” With an unsteady exhale, he leaned in until only two words seperated their lips. _“Allow_ me?” 

All of Merlin’s blood filled his face at once. His breath matched Arthur’s stunted gasps and his hair stood on end from Arthur’s frantic rakes and pulls. Merlin leaned back just enough to whisper, the black of his eyes overtaking the blue, and gave his consent both halting and desperate. 

“Of course I will, you prat.” 

Arthur traced a finger over Merlin's red lips. His last word birthed in a shaky whisper so full of adoration that his servant trembled beneath his possessive hands. 

_"Idiot."_

Then Merlin released the noose, allowing Arthur’s trousers to drop, and both men fell to their deaths with their bodies entwined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, Arthur, or their lovely angst. 
> 
> Author's Note: I've always loved that scene where Arthur and Merlin are preparing to face the dragon and Merlin basically confesses his love. That face Arthur makes just kills me, almost like he's more afraid of Merlin's feelings than the dragon. Anyway, I piggybacked off that scene to write this vignette. Let me know what you think!


	5. To the Pyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur catches Merlin thanking Gwaine following the melee and grows jealous. Merlin pulls away from Arthur after learning of the pending arrival of Princess Elena. When Arthur pulls him back, it ends in a fiery exchange.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or any of the characters within.
> 
> Author's Note: I just want to mention that this entire fic, but this chapter especially, is loosely inspired by a beautifully choreographed dance portraying the push and pull of two men in love. It reminded me so much of Arthur and Merlin that I thought I'd share it here for those interested. It's called "X Ambassadors - UNSTEADY | Official Dance Video" and you'll find it on the DanceOn YouTube channel.
> 
> Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!

“You’ve spent quite a bit of time with Gwaine these past few days.” 

Arthur’s voice ignited with accusation, rising in tone at the mention of their new friend. Merlin sighed into the wardrobe, pieced through the nightshirts in search of the softest, and suppressed a caustic laugh at the real question beneath the haughty statement. 

“Yes, well he did need some looking after. Gwaine’s a man of his own mind, not accustomed to Camelot’s laws and restrictions.” 

Arthur huffed. “So much good that did, under my father’s rule.” 

The back of Merlin’s neck burned at the onset of covetous blue eyes. Overarching possessiveness wafted from across the room and threatened to wrap Merlin in its suffocating arms. He ducked further into the wardrobe and fought the urge to curl up and protect himself from the thawing air. 

“You tried your best, Arthur. The king is set in his ways.” 

“Yes.” The floor creaked beneath Arthur’s heavy sidestep. Merlin dragged his fingers over the smooth seam of a silk sleeve and savored the cooling softness against the heat coming from the man across the room. The brooding silence broke with another jealous jab. “Gwaine certainly took a liking to you, though.” 

Merlin surveyed every garment in the wardrobe with torturous intent. He sensed Arthur’s tension like a stake suffers a match. It thickened the air and formed a cumbersome smog that constricted Merlin’s chest and pushed his heartbeat to an uncomfortable pace. Finally, Merlin bit his lip and hid the barbs of a squelching retort in a cushion of humor. 

“Many do, sire. You’d be surprised.” Arthur stilled so suddenly that the air itself suspended, ceasing all sound. Merlin about-faced, breaking the invisible barrier, and carefully folded a clean blue nightshirt over his outstretched arm. “I do have some talents outside of polishing, cleaning, and sharpening you know.”

Merlin approached Arthur in near-slow motion, his body instinctively pulling in the opposite direction despite his heart’s longing. The bare-chested prince took his breath away. He stood with his shoulders wide and every muscle taut. His nostrils flared with exhale and that square jaw clamped tightly around words that went unsaid. Lit eyes narrowed at Merlin’s approach and lips parted to speak in a leaden whisper. 

“Shameless public snogging would count as one of your _talents_ then?” 

Merlin stopped just short of arm’s reach. A brick of dread settled within his gut. It’d been months since the dragon, since his father’s death, and that one night of comfort had infiltrated every aspect of their daily lives like a relentless, intoxicating wall of smoke. It became a warm blanket that gifted paralyzing love and brutal overprotection and encouraged a euphoric, obsessive need for only each other, obscuring the outside world and all of its looming threats. 

Threats that came to pass in the form of a slow-spreading fire ignited by Uther Pendragon. 

Merlin raised darkened, defeated eyes to his love. Arthur stood battle-ready, hand at his side as if reaching for his sword. Merlin clutched the fresh garment close to his chest, licked his lips, and spat his own clever retort. 

“You would know, _my lord,_ if I could ever be more than your idiotic servant.” 

Arthur charged forward with his fists clenched. Merlin withdrew with wide eyes and parted lips. They met in the middle of the chambers, just a breath away from contact. There, the prince halted. He squeezed his eyes shut, winced, and shriveled with a defeated huff. Then he spoke softly into their shared breathing space, the words disappearing into the thickening fog. 

“I suppose I would.” 

With a heaving sigh, Arthur bypassed Merlin and stopped at the window to stare moodily into the starry sky. His muscled body smoldered in the moonlight and that blonde hair reflected the gold all around. Merlin recognized _his_ Arthur in the downward curve of the pout and the casual slump of those shoulders. Next to Merlin, Arthur relaxed, relished, laughed until he doubled over. He also crumbled, grieved, and plunged in the safety of his servant's arms. In those most intimate moments within the prince's chambers, Merlin could easily forget that Arthur would soon bear a kingdom upon his shoulders. 

Or that such responsibility left little room for servants beneath sweaty sheets. 

His heart reaching, Merlin dropped the nightshirt on the table and halved the distance between them in three strides. He leaned casually against the bedpost, lightening his mood and posting an unspoken invitation. He chewed on his next words before sending them out into the hotspot between. 

“I’d hardly call a kiss on the cheek _snogging,_ Arthur. I didn’t think you’d mind. I only wished to thank Gwaine for saving my life, our lives.” 

Arthur dropped his right arm. It dangled freely at his waist with fingers that plucked at the laces of his trousers. Then he lifted his head to reveal dead eyes and a face coarse and creased with resentment. Merlin recognized the deeper shadows of hurt beneath that concrete layer. 

“Yes, well he certainly got the message along with everyone else in the lower town. It’s well done that we’re not publicly courting, as that would be grounds for your execution.” 

Merlin tensed. His lungs halted. His heartbeat roared in his ears and his face burned against the mounting pressure of unspoken truths. He searched the floor, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as rage-induced tears battered the dam behind his eyes. 

“Yes, _sire._ Next time a man shows interest in me I’ll just light my own pyre to save you the trouble.” Arthur snapped to attention, his chest heaving. Merlin suffocated the flame in his gut and immediately retreated to tend to his duties with heated downturned eyes and strained wit. “Better that way, I suppose. You heard your father in council. He’s found you a lovely princess to marry. Soon I’ll have to go back to polishing your boots and mucking your stables without the added perk of sharing your bed. Then _I’ll_ get to be the jealous one.” 

The atmosphere abruptly transitioned from smoke to fire. 

Merlin’s magic awoke in warning, igniting his nerves and tensing every muscle. His ears tuned into the angry pounding of feet upon stone and his breath matched the fervent panting of his lover. He raised his eyes just as Arthur gripped his wrists with nearly enough strength to bruise, pinned his hips to the bed with his body weight, and forced him down into a prone position on the mattress. Arthur threw sparks from his eyes, forcing Merlin’s immediate and unwavering attention, and dropped his lips into a quivering sneer. 

“Don’t joke about _that,_ not ever.” 

“Which part?” Merlin fought uselessly against the restraints, consciously stuffing his magic down in favor of his pitying human strength. “The part where I’d die for you? You already know I would. Or the part where you take a wife and forget about me?” 

Arthur’s lips turned into an exaggerated pout and his angry creases smoothed. Suddenly gaining consciousness of his own strength, he loosened his hold just enough, but kept a heavy leg over Merlin’s hips to still his spastic resistance. Only when their eyes met, when Merlin accepted the pain behind the aggression, did he relax. Their chests expanded in unison and touched with each gasping inhale. 

Then, Arthur released one of Merlin’s wrists and dragged his hand down, roughly smoothing the servant’s wayward hair back into place. 

“How could you possibly think that I’d forget about you, you _idiot?”_

Merlin gulped air so heated that it singed his throat. The anger of moments before receded and pooled in a boiling puddle of desire at the base of his belly. Arthur’s strength waned with every winded inhale, his shaky arms barely keeping him upright. Merlin rougly extracted himself from Arthur’s grip. He used his knobby knees to straddle Arthur’s hips and pull the prince over onto the bed. They landed side by side and facing each other, the prince still encased in Merlin’s legs. Then Merlin trailed a finger over Arthur’s flushed face and traced those beautiful lips with the pad of his thumb. 

“How could you possibly think I’d want anyone other than your royal pratness?” 

Arthur deflated. He snaked an arm around Merlin’s waist and pulled him forward until their chests met in the middle of the royal bed. The servant crumbled under his prince’s intense stare. Their shared heat ignited a fire between their bodies. Merlin breathed in that thick smoke gratefully, like a man deprived of oxygen, and fought vainly against the subsequent cough. 

“Seeing you with other men, even in innocence, it’s like a dagger to my heart. You are meant to be mine, Merlin. I’ve no way to make that come to pass yet, not formally at least, but I will not give up on you.” Merlin pushed against Arthur’s chest, their reality suffocating. Arthur squeezed Merlin’s waist tighter, pulling him back in. _“Don’t_ give on me.” 

Merlin’s every nerve ending fired in a mixture of pleasure and pain. He longed to fall into those spectacular blue eyes and never surface. His magic agreed, sparking and churning in Arthur’s dominating hold. The dread of heartbreak lingered, though, like an enclosing inferno slowly separating him from his source of air, nourishment, and life. 

“I will never leave you, Arthur. You’ll be my prince, my friend, my master until the day I die.” Merlin dragged a finger across Arthur’s cheekbones and recoiled at the welcoming heat it produced within. “You’re to be king, the greatest Camelot has ever known. That is your destiny alone. You need a queen, an heir, all things that I can’t provide.” 

Merlin’s body jerked away at Arthur’s desperate, scorching embrace. The prince seized Merlin’s neck in his other palm and forced their foreheads together until he’d no choice but to take shelter in those strong arms. 

“My father can parade a hundred princesses through Camelot. I’ll still choose you, Merlin, every time.” The encroaching flames licked at Merlin’s exposed nerves, drawing tears that seared his cheeks and parched his throat. Arthur brushed them from his raw skin with a cooling thumb. “My destiny, my reign, my life, none of it matters if I don’t have you next to me.” 

Something broke in Merlin. His will to fight crumbled. The wall of smoke thickened, once again obscuring their potential doom. Merlin swallowed the remnants of their combustion and choked down the cinders. “And if I’m not enough?” 

“You are more than enough.” The smoke consumed Merlin in one last gust. Arthur’s comforting hand quelled his aching lungs as it traveled under Merlin’s shirt and settled over his racing heart. “Don’t dress me tonight, Merlin. Just stay, keep me warm.” 

Overcome, Merlin stepped up to the pyre and lost himself in the clear sky within Arthur’s eyes. 


	6. No Magic. No Laws. Just Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's and Arthur's relationship is revealed to Uther in Queen of Hearts, resulting in Merlin's near-execution. Arthur saves his partner's life, but the reveal of Merlin's most guarded secret causes him to question everything about the man he loves and their future together.

“Merlin!”

The name tasted thick, tough, and sharp upon Arthur’s tongue. The teasing emphasis gone, it became a word without meaning, purpose, or feeling. A forceful swallow sent it down Arthur’s throat, where it latched on and partially occluded his airway. Lungs heaving and fighting for every inhale, Arthur slammed the door behind the raven-haired man and threw the latch. A heavy silence descended upon his chambers and he raised his eyes to spot the owner of that name hunched over and staring at the stone floor with lips screwed tightly closed. 

Arthur bolted upright, locked shaking hands in his belt, and forced all traces of endearment aside. 

“I addressed you. Do you dare not respond?” 

“Apologies, my lord.” Merlin’s pitiful voice barely traveled the distance between. “Why did you bring me back here?”

Arthur’s body twisted and clawed at his own restraint. His blood boiled and rushed at his veins like a battering ram. Merlin stood before him trembling, filthy, and defenseless. All while he’d managed to inflict a wound so severe upon Arthur that death felt inevitable. Arthur’s instincts told him to punch, fight, and kill. No, though, not _Merlin._ His hemorrhaging heart couldn’t bear the brunt. 

_“I’ll_ ask the questions.” Arthur turned his back and dug bleeding crescents into his palms. “I assume you’re still capable of your duties as my manservant, yes?”

Merlin spoke around a lump of emotion. “Arthur…I…” 

“Answer the question!” 

The bolt hit its target. Merlin straightened at its impact, eyes wide and bloodshot. He awaited the next round with his chest forward and presented a bare canvas more than willing to absorb whatever punishment his master bid. 

“Yes, of course, my lord.” 

Arthur caught his breath, holstered his weapon, and marched towards the dressing screen. His pocket bulged in the shape of his mother’s sigil, a proposal preempted by outside persecution and now floating in uncertainty. His fingers caressed the medal, as they’d done so many times in so many ways. He restrained them behind his back with a grip so tight that it would bruise and spoke through clenched teeth.

“Then remove my armor. I won’t ask again.” 

Arthur dared not look back, not when the boots padded tentatively across the cold stone, not even when those familiar eyes studied him like a man taking in the jagged rocks just before jumping to his death. He stood as an impartial statue while trembling hands prodded at leather straps and clanked buckles together clumsily. Merlin sucked in a strangled breath and avoided Arthur’s face at every twist and turn. This gave Arthur permission to notice the sweaty cheek still stained with the dungeon’s mud and the purple discolorations around both frail wrists. The typically bare face now hosted uneven stubble from a day and night spent in a dark cage and those cheekbones had grown even more prominent. 

Arthur winced at the memory of Merlin, _Merlin,_ on that filthy floor awaiting his execution for the crime of sorcery at Uther’s hand. All for an act Arthur’s sister had committed. 

How much betrayal could a man take in a day without going completely mad? 

A shoulder plate crashed to the ground, causing Arthur’s heartbeat to skip and jolting him from his nightmare. He and Merlin awoke from their stupors at once. Their eyes met with equal parts shock, fear, and heartbreak. Merlin’s glistened and begged apology. Arthur read the shame just beneath and clenched his fists. The urge to shove and hit rose up like a mighty wind and he bit his own tongue to hold it down. 

Merlin had magic. No, Merlin _was_ magic. 

All this time, all these years, and he’d never even tried to tell Arthur. 

Merlin dropped his pitiful gaze. Arthur spit a challenge to bring him immediately back. 

“If it’s so difficult to undress me, then why not use your magic? It appears you’re quite the sorcerer. Magic my armor off.”

This hardened Merlin, pleasing Arthur. The servant’s face stilled, and his lips formed a thin line. Shadows replaced the color in his cheeks. This stubborn, impulsive, man he could persecute. This sorcerer, this traitor, he could punish without seizing his sobbing heart. He’d already received enough mercy when Arthur snuck Gaius’ aging potion into the dungeons and begged him to save his own life.

It’d only taken a single question, from Uther to Merlin, for Arthur to betray all of Camelot.

 _Why else would Arthur fall in love with someone like you?_

As if his father could even begin to understand the beautiful man kneeling before his throne. 

Maybe Arthur never had either.

“No, sire. I will not.”

The cutting reply triggered a bitter growl within Arthur. “You never do as you’re told. Its insufferable!” 

Merlin resumed his duties on Arthur’s other shoulder, ending their back and forth for the time. Arthur’s body sagged unwittingly under the familiar touch. He longed to go back to the dawn of yesterday, when he’d lured Merlin deep into the forest to share wine, food, and his vision of their future together. 

What could the future possibly hold for them now? 

“If you care for me at all, if you value your place here, then you will do as I say and answer my questions. All of them. Honestly.” 

One strap fell free, loosening the pressure on Arthur’s chest. Warm methodical fingers briefly brushed the base of his neck and he reflexively leaned into the familiar contact. Merlin’s breath hitched. He stopped just short of nuzzling Arthur’s shoulder, their usual routine, and dropped his hands with a single, affirmative, nod. 

“Keep going. Don’t stop unless by my order.” 

Merlin sighed a shaky response and moved onto the next fastening with slow, calculated, pushes and pulls. The air settled in the small space between them, an understanding reached. Arthur breathed and then began.

“How many times have you used magic around me?” 

Merlin released the next strap. This time he steadied the plate against Arthur’s firm shoulder while maneuvering the final attachment with one hand. He chose every movement, every word, with great care. 

“Too many to count, sire. I mostly use my power to save your life. It is its purpose. Sometimes, though, I warm your bath or stoke the fire or remove a stain from your shirt. I’ve been careless with my magic too. Like the day we first met.” 

Arthur heard the smile in those final words. He could picture it all in his mind with no effort at all, the verbal joust that had ignited a raging fire. Even now, doused in anger and devastation, it smoldered deep down and intrigued Arthur just enough to probe further. 

“Our first fight. Don’t tell me, you cheated.” 

Merlin snorted a laugh. His strokes ceased momentarily while they both relived that battle. A single fingertip, impossibly warm, rested on Arthur’s upper back and threatened his resolve. Merlin could always bring Arthur to submission with a single touch. Now, betrayal kept his knees straight and his head high. 

“Just a bit, sire. If I hadn’t, then you would’ve killed me.” Merlin’s exhumed body slacked all at once. “Don’t worry, I won’t cheat this time.” 

The comment burrowed a hole deep in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. Merlin’s tone edged with a downfallen acceptance of a fate still completely undecided. A sorcerer’s punishment never went unquestioned. Now, Arthur could think of nothing but questions of all kinds, including one that had been lingering on his tongue all day. 

“Why didn’t you escape last night? Use your magic to save yourself? If not for Gaius and I, you’d be dead.” 

A heavy sigh echoed in the hollow space. Merlin held the detached plate close against his torso and froze in thought. Just as Arthur opened his mouth to threaten, Merlin turned away to place the plate down and answered in a low and defeated tone. 

“I did not make that poultice, Arthur, but your father wasn’t wrong about me. I have magic and I am in love with you, both violations of Camelot’s laws.” He stole a haggard breath, voice cracking. “Those two truths are so woven into my soul that I cannot repent them, even upon pain of death. What good would it do to run when my reason for living remains here?” 

Arthur closed his eyes and tuned into his senses. The air shifted to accommodate the wiry man. He advanced from the left cautiously, a rabbit uncertain of the safety of its surroundings. Skilled hands slowly lifted and the combination of must and metal assaulted Arthur’s nose. He awoke at once to see the line of old blood surrounding the bruises on Merlin’s wrists.

So, he had struggled, fought, but only as a mortal man his size could do.

“Why did you never tell me? Did you honestly think I would have you executed? Even after we…” 

Arthur dropped the thought and Merlin picked it up like the right hand to his left. He carefully took a gauntlet between his long fingers and caressed the buckle with his thumb. He bit his lip, obviously considering his answer carefully. 

“I did, at first. You were a royal prat, after all. Then, I knew that you would not.” Merlin winced at the flex of his wrist. Arthur’s instincts, still burning strong, sent a wave of anger at the man responsible for those bruises. “It was never so much about saving my life. I’d happily die for you or on your command. I kept my secret so that I would not stand between you and your father. You have a great destiny Arthur, and it must come to pass.” 

Those delicate hands trailed around Arthur’s cuffs with purpose. Every move lingered, savored, and warmed even the skin beneath the metal guards. Merlin’s lips rested in a sad, accepting, smile. Arthur’s tension thawed just enough to observe the touch, the gesture, and the presence. Then he swallowed the roses and spit the thorns upon the man he loved.

 _“Destiny?_ What about choice, Merlin?”

Those blue eyes, so full of exhaustion and misery, met Arthur’s in a mixture of confusion and longing. He shrunk away, body shriveling, and Arthur gripped his arms and forced him close. 

“We’ve been partners in every way. I’ve trusted you more than anyone else in my life and now, now I find out that you’ve been deliberately deceiving me since the day we met. You made decisions for us both without consulting me, treated me like a mindless pawn instead of an equal.” He gripped Merlin’s tortured wrists just tight enough to make a point. “I would have protected you, prevented _this_ from happening, if you’d only trusted me too. I had a right to know who shared my bed, my body, my heart. To make the choice between you and my father. You took that away from me.” 

Merlin’s face contorted in pain. His hands grasped the metal cuffs in desperation. Arthur dragged a healing finger over the cuts and bruises and twisted his lips into a broken scowl.

“Tell me, Merlin, how am I to forgive you?” 

Neither man moved. The silence grew deafening. Only their ragged breaths filled the empty void previously so full of promise. Merlin’s eye darted, panicked, and then a simple response came from a complicated man fighting against an onslaught of tears.

“I’m so sorry, Arthur. I didn’t…I don’t know how to answer that question.”

Arthur swallowed a salty taste and lovingly released Merlin’s arms. His fingers lingered on those bruises before letting go completely, his heart hurting at the sight. Then he gave a commanding whisper to his still-attached armor.

“I didn’t order you to stop.” 

Merlin’s jaw clenched as he removed the gauntlet and placed it on the floor. Then he returned at once to the other arm. A defeated smile touched his lips as he did his duty, unclipping and loosening with trembling fingers. That gauntlet slid off easily and then Merlin paused, seemingly as nervous as their very first time, and met Arthur’s eyes with a heartbreaking question. 

“Why do you still ask this of me? Is it punishment?”

The prince recoiled as if the words had been a dagger to his side. He caught Merlin’s equally painful flinch and steadied them both with a hand on the pale arm. His own question, saturated with worry and fear, burned his tongue.

“Do you _want_ to stop undressing me? If it’s so unpleasant for you…” 

“No!” Merlin’s face rested in a crumbling mess of heartbreak and relief. His words came out a jumbled, choking mess so recognizably _Merlin_ that it eased Arthur’s heart. “No, not at all. It’s just that if you’re trying to hurt me, then allowing me to dress you now just to send me away later would be the worst torture that I could imagine.” 

Arthur’s thoughts circled back to the start, to the first question to pass his lips when Merlin had confessed his secret. The question remained unanswered. Understanding crept through his mind like the sun’s slowly expanding arms at dawn. He grasped the sigil through his breast pocket, buried deep beneath his chainmail now, and exhaled. 

“You never answered me, Merlin. Why do you never use magic to undress me?”

Merlin took Arthur’s hand, now free of the gauntlet, and held it against his pounding heart. The prince touched his fingertips to the rough fabric and strove to match his pulse with the one just beneath. Merlin met him with honest eyes and renewed calm.

“Because this is my favorite part of the day, Arthur, undressing you. I don’t want to rush it by using magic. Doing this for you, with my own hands, it is the greatest honor that I can imagine. I know you think that I’m incompetent or clumsy but, in truth I’m only taking my time. I savor every moment of this routine, every day, just in case it’s the last time I get to perform it for you.” 

Arthur exhaled his anger and inhaled a love so undeniably worth the fight. The truth struck him like a mace. He'd been ready to protect this sorcerer, this man, from the moment he confessed. In fact, he had been willing to give up his entire kingdom to remain by his side. 

Destiny certainly worked in strange ways. 

“This ritual, this is ours. No magic, no laws. Just us, without any barriers.” Arthur traced a finger over Merlin’s cheek and brushed away the remnants of his imprisonment. “I require your services, Merlin. I need you to dress me every morning and every evening. We'll go from there.” 

Merlin smiled for the first time since the picnic in the woods, since Arthur reached into his pocket with the promise of a future full of love and acceptance, since Merlin interrupted him to confess his most protected secret and conjured a breathtaking flock of butterflies as proof, since Arthur kissed him aggressively to disguise those golden eyes from his approaching father. 

Finally, Arthur smiled too, and patted the sigil one last time. 

Not today, he thought, but soon.

“We’ve a lot to figure out and it will take me some time to come to terms with everything. In the meantime, can you manage to do as you’re told, you idiot, just this once?”

Merlin’s tear-stained face relaxed and his shoulders dropped. He took a calculated step back and tucked skilled fingers beneath Arthur’s chainmail. The prince bowed and let Merlin take the lead in their nightly dance. 

“For you, clotpole, I'll certainly try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or the cast of characters within. I've messed with the canon in this series to make it Merthur friendly. 
> 
> Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This was the chapter I had in mind when I first started this series. I apologize for all the angst, but how can a magic reveal be anything but angsty with these guys? Enjoy and please let me know how I did!


	7. I’m Proposing To You, You Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's father is dead, and the crown awaits with the rise of the sun. Grieving and nervous, the new king turns to Merlin for comfort as he prepares to build Albion and take a bold step to merge their destinies once and for all time.

Arthur sunk into his mattress. 

The bed weakened under the heavy burden of his pending title. The ornately carved wood creaked, and mounds of blankets flattened beneath the weight of his loss. The walls closed in and the darkness swallowed corners of his chambers usually bathed in morning light. It all threatened to envelop him in a loneliness so crippling that he understood frighteningly well his father’s plight after Morgana’s betrayal. 

He’d lost the last of his family. Arthur now stood a man alone. 

A bang alerted the prince to the fact that he was, indeed, not alone. He raised heavy eyes to find Merlin fighting with the cupboard door, the formal red robes trapped somewhere within. One boot braced on the wood, Merlin tugged aggressively on the metal handle until his face burned red. Normally, Arthur would roll his eyes and call the man an idiot or some other clever term. Instead, the prince’s lips curled into a doting smile and he dug his fingers into the nest of soft fabrics.

“Merlin?” 

The muscles in those skinny arms grew taunt with his struggle. Arthur’s eyes dragged up the lanky body to the beautifully angled face set in stubborn determination. He briefly wondered if Merlin did this on purpose. The most powerful warlock in the world should never have such ridiculous problems. Surely, he could fix anything with a flash of his golden eyes. 

“The door’s stuck. I’ve nearly got it.”

Arthur observed the man currently wrestling a cupboard to the death for ownership of a robe and barked out a laugh. Warmth spread from his chest to his limbs and cheeks. He immediately covered his mouth and widened his eyes. Merlin faced him with a face screwed into an unspoken question. He kept a death grip on the handle and leaned back as if repelling down a cliffside.

“Are you alright, Arthur?”

Arthur settled his face in somber, chewed away his obnoxious smile, and pried the hand from his mouth. He gave a single nod towards the defensive piece of furniture. 

“Carry on, _Mer_ lin. It’s not as if I’ve all day to take my throne, now is it?” 

On the contrary, he did. His court would never rush this process after a night spent in mourning. He felt reasonably sure that they’d come looking if he didn’t show by the afternoon. Otherwise, he might prefer to spend all day in his chambers watching his lover spar over a few yards of silk.

Or crawling between his sheets and properly grieving his father. 

“Merlin, why not just whisper a spell and fix the bloody thing?” 

That triggered a tremendous scoff from the younger man. He abruptly dropped the handle and threw his twig-like arms around in a gesture of frustration. His entire body heightened in a challenge and Arthur recognized himself in the shadows of exasperation beneath those hollow eyes. 

“Of course, because it’s so easy to just mutter a few words and make everything better. Why didn’t I think of that myself? Magic isn’t a well that never dries, it’s a living, breathing thing and sometimes it fails too.” 

The deeper meaning dropped like a rockfall and knocked each man off balance. Equally wide eyes met across the room. Merlin slumped like a man deflated and gave a haggard exale. The prince drowned in the climbing sea of anguish, too spent to kick his legs towards the surface, and silently wished for the waters to swallow him completely. Only Merlin’s footsteps kept him afloat. The desperation in his servant's voice provided much needed air. 

“Arthur. I’m sorry. I..I didn’t mean…” 

Arthur bit his prattish tongue and buried his face in trembling hands. 

“Yes, you did Merlin. You always mean what you say. It’s not your fault.” 

Then Merlin planted himself upon the bed and doggedly tugged Arthur into his lap. The prince leaned into the crook of Merlin’s arm like a baby cradled by a loving parent and savored the agreed-upon moment of silence. His chambers turned on their side and he blinked at the shining blade lying across the far table beside two untouched bowls of grapes and fresh apples. He’d instructed Merlin to eat breakfast and, of course, the idiot hadn’t listened. 

The silence broke with Merlin’s voice, so childlike from this angle.

“I really wanted to save him, Arthur.” 

Arthur found Merlin’s smaller hands where they overlapped on his chest and covered them with his own. 

“Thank you, for trying. You didn’t have to after everything he’d done to you and your kind.”

Merlin interlocked their fingers, leaned down, and placed a chaste kiss in Arthur’s hair. A pointed chin rested on the prince’s temple and soft lips whispered in his ear. 

“Yes, I did. He was your father. I know how it hurts, to be without your family.” 

Arthur’s eyes wandered drowsily around his chambers. They passed over the rainbow of fruit on the dining table and onto the cherrywood desk full of forgotten paperwork. They blinked at the window looking out into the square, reliving the endearing joy in Merlin’s voice as he described the circus troop that ultimately catapulted them all into an impossible new reality. 

How the world could change in a day.

He continued pulling memories of his father from his childhood all the way to yesterday, mostly fragments of lectures, big hands on skinny shoulders, and sparring long after his bedtime. As he progressed in age, some of them didn’t include his father at all. In fact, his father had become little more than a master since he took his title as prince. If the king had bothered to spend any time in this room with his son, spend any time with Merlin, then maybe he would have changed his mind about those unlike himself. 

“Do you think he can see us now? From, wherever he is.” 

“I don’t know, maybe.” Merlin worried his bottom lip. “Do you want him to see us?”

Arthur twisted around until his head rested on Merlin’s thigh and stared up into that glowing face. The morning light played off Merlin’s cheekbones and highlighted the dark circles beneath his shining eyes. They stood out like storm clouds against a blue summer sky and formed a lump in Arthur’s throat. 

This man truly had sat upon the cold floor all night waiting for Arthur to emerge. 

A comforting and potentially selfish thought overtook Arthur’s grief and wrapped him in renewed warmth. 

Who other than family would sacrifice so much of themselves and seek no credit in return?

“Yes. I want him to know that I am not alone. That I have love and that it is you, a gallant warlock, who is responsible for saving us all so many times.” Merlin raked comforting fingers through his wayward hair and Arthur briefly smiled. “Could you imagine his face, if he’d known?”

A teasing spark reignited behind Merlin’s eyes.

“You mean his face as he chopped my head off for enchanting the prince of Camelot?” Arthur tensed at that image. Merlin’s goofy grin fell into a sincere smile. “I’d have managed to squirm away, of course. Then, in the darkness of his chambers, he would have beamed with pride at the courageous, bold, and honorable man his son had become.” 

Merlin rocked side to side a bit, soothing Arthur's pangs and coaxing a brief smile. 

“As if you could _enchant_ me, you idiot. You can’t even enchant a cupboard.” 

Merlin’s fingers burrowed through Arthur’s tight hold and tickled his side. The prince squirmed, holding in a sputtering laugh, and pushed back just hard enough to loosen Merlin’s grip. He launched a counterattack that left his mate red-faced and grinning stupidly. Arthur fell back into Merlin’s lap, suddenly breathless, and found his cheeks wet with fresh tears. When he met Merlin’s concerned eyes, the dam finally broke.

“My father is dead. _Dead._ Now, I have to be king. I’m not ready for any of it, Merlin.” 

Merlin pulled Arthur closer, brushed the hair from his face, and whispered soothingly as the prince blubbered and spilled his sorrow into the lean torso. All of his fears flowed out nonsensically and gathered in a puddle at the hem of Merlin’s tunic. His lover rocked his trembling body as the burdens unfurled and left an open, bleeding wound that only the young physician’s trained fingers could heal. They stayed there until the sun rose completely, bathing the room, and the warlock, in the light of a promising new day. 

Arthur blinked his vision back into focus and reached up to trace one of those beautiful cheekbones with his thumb. Years of battles, magical creatures, betrayal, death, and now a coronation brought them to this moment in this bed. He knew at once that he would never share it with another. As long as Merlin lived, Arthur would never be alone.

“Stay with me tonight. You need sleep and you always sleep better beside me.” 

Arthur’s own need within that statement went unspoken, but certainly not unrecognized. 

“Is that an order from the king?” Merlin teased, his tongue peeking between his lips in jest. “Whatever will happen to me if I refuse?” 

Arthur exhaled, suddenly lighter and freer. Something wonderful churned just within his gut and his body awoke ready and earnest for a new beginning that could not wait another moment. He climbed out of the makeshift trench between Merlin’s knobby knees and chest and gripped the saturated tunic teasingly. 

“The stocks, followed by mucking my horses, and then you’ll have the honor of doing my laundry and polishing my crown.” 

Merlin took the bait, of course, his eyes blindingly beautiful in their jest. 

“Those are all things I’ll do anyway, you dollophead.” The younger man shook his head. “You do realize you’re rubbish at making threats. You really must work on that if you’re to rule a kingdom.”

Arthur’s heart raced. His body, now wrapped around Merlin’s, trembled. He’d never felt so nervous in all his life. 

“Right, better practice then.” With that he slipped his arms around Merlin’s torso and tackled him onto the bed. They wrestled briefly before Arthur pinned Merlin down with his knee and a satisfied smile. “Fetch my cloak closures from the bedside table and polish them or I will force you to wear…the hat.” 

Merlin ceased any struggle against the other’s weight, his face frozen in dread. “Not _the_ hat.”

“Yes, _the_ hat.” 

Arthur fought to maintain his glower. Merlin’s lips formed a slow and enticing smile.

“Right. Then I concede, _your highness._ ” Arthur sat back and quietly slid off the bed as Merlin moved to the other side and opened the drawer within the bedside table. He searched through until his brow furrowed and his lips traveled into a confused frown. “Your closures aren’t here. Hopefully they’re not in the cupboard. Really must fix that bloody thing.” 

Arthur jogged around the bed and came to a sudden standstill behind Merlin. His arms hung restlessly and crossed and uncrossed with every passing moment. He ran a quick hand through his mussed hair, smoothing it down. 

“Look again. In the leather pouch, maybe?”

Merlin raised his head and his eyebrows shot up to his hairline when he noticed the prince just behind. He gave a shrug and then returned to the drawer to pull out the soft fabric, tied together with a beautiful silk ribbon. Those nimble fingers unknotted the lace with reverence and he grew the most loving smile at its contents.

“This is your mother’s sigil. She would be so proud of you, you know. I can polish it too, if you wish to carry it with you today.” 

Arthur sunk to one knee, heart pounding, and peered up at his only remaining family. His best friend, his heart, his protector, his warlock remained completely oblivious, of course, in the worship of the crest. The subtle lift of those full lips gave Arthur all the courage he needed. 

“I’d rather my future husband hold onto it for me.” 

Merlin froze, his body so still that Arthur suddenly worried. Maybe Merlin no longer wanted such a commitment. They hadn’t even discussed it since the fight that nearly ended them. So many scenarios played through Arthur’s head as the man he loved slowly turned, the sigil still balancing within his quivering palm. When their eyes met, Merlin’s held hope so breathtaking that Arthur nearly lost his ability to speak.

“Arthur?” 

_”Mer_ lin.” 

“What are you doing on the floor, you clotpole?” 

“I’m proposing to you, you idiot.” 

Merlin cocked his head obtusely. 

“I thought you’d changed your mind after learning of my magic.” 

“I never changed my mind. Not for a moment. You could have three heads and a tail, and I’d still love you, you fool. Now shut up, Merlin, and let me propose!” Merlin beamed. Arthur sighed into his feelings. “These last few days have been the most difficult of my entire life. I wouldn’t have survived them if not for you, Merlin. I realized that even though I’ve lost family, I’m not alone. You’re still here after everything, giving me exactly what I need with no expectation. I want you to have my mother’s sigil because you are my family now. I hope that you’ll agree to be my husband and to rule Camelot beside me.” 

Merlin’s mouth dropped open. Those majestic eyes, dark as the dawn sky, drifted from Arthur to the object in his hands. He held it with such reverence, carefully dragging his thumb along the brass symbol. When he found his way back to Arthur, he flapped his mouth without producing words. Arthur swallowed his own barbed nerves and came to his bumbling lover's assist. 

“Well don’t make me kneel here all day, _idiot._ I am a king after all.” 

A tear escaped down Merlin’s cheek and he sobbed a laugh. Finally, he raised the sigil to his chest and held it over his heart. 

“Only long enough to deflate your massive head, my royal ass of a husband.” 

Arthur stood at once and pulled Merlin into a suffocating embrace. He ran a sweaty palm through that raven hair and down the protruding spine before entwining both arms around the narrow waist. Merlin tilted his head, chin resting on Arthur’s chest, and pulled him into a shattering kiss. 

Arthur found home in those lips. He bathed in the safety of a best friend, the passion of a lover, and the loyalty of kin. He strove to give back as much as he took, clutching his partner flesh against his body and sliding his fingers around each angle and protrusion as if sculpting the man out of clay. Merlin leaned into every touch and dug his fingers into Arthur's aching muscles, eliciting a guttural moan that came from deep within Arthur's soul. 

When they surfaced for air, Merlin stared deep into Arthur’s eyes, wiped away the ghosts of his tears, and smiled.

“Let’s get you dressed, my lord. The people are eager to meet their king.” 

That said, the cupboard door burst open and the robes spilled out in a massive pile of Pendragon red. This initiated a stubborn shoving match as both men attempted to shelter the other from the deadly wrath of the wardrobe. Arthur won, of course, holding Merlin in a loose headlock. Once it seemed the danger had passed, the prince huffed and released the younger man. They shared a confused glance before Arthur teased an accusation. 

“Was that you, Merlin?”

Merlin scoffed and shook his head.

“Did you see my eyes turn gold?” The warlock opened his palm to reveal the sigil within the protection of their hovering bodies. Both men stared down at the subtle yellow glow coming from the beautiful symbol, as if it were the sun itself. “Don’t suppose that’s your mother giving her blessing then?” 

Arthur placed his hand over Merlin’s and entwined their fingers, sandwiching the sigil between. 

“I always knew she would approve of you.” 

Arthur caught Merlin’s eyes, so strikingly blue and blissful, and refused to let them drop. As a boy, he’d gone to bed every night dreaming of the day he’d become king, uphold his father’s laws, and take a wife to bear his children. 

But as Merlin once said, things never turned out as expected.

For that, Arthur could not be more thankful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or the characters within. I've altered canon, while still referencing certain episodes and events in the Merlin saga in order to further the Merthur story. 
> 
> Author's Note: This was inspired by the deleted scene where Arthur gives Merlin his mother's sigil. I needed a break from the angst, because they are just so prone to it, so its more fluff and hurt/comfort. Thanks for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting!


	8. All We Need Is Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Arthur's and Merlin's wedding day and the death of one of their allies still haunts the warlock. Late to his own wedding, Arthur finds him in need of reassurance and a little help with his formal attire.

_Hold me._

Those words, whispered by Isolde in her final moments, haunted Merlin. 

He dropped back upon the bed and screwed his leaking eyes closed in an effort to block out Tristan’s tortured, crumbled expression during his beloved’s final moments. They’d been lovers, destined for each other, and one swipe of a sword severed their fated bond and separated their mortal bodies. It’d happened so fast, so effortlessly. Merlin’s stomach twisted upon itself. One tear escaped and fell upon the pressed fabric so foreign upon his lap. 

Immediately, he wiped at his face and sheltered the robe within his protective arms. The midnight blue silk blended with the golden thread at the collar, embroidered in the shape of a dragon, and the new brass buttons shined to make it one of the most stunning pieces of clothing Merlin ever laid his eyes upon. All of that craftsmanship, that toil, just for Merlin. He’d never owned anything so perfect and fragile and the thought of somehow ruining it sent him into a near panic. 

“Merlin?” 

Arthur appeared in the doorway with his sword hand at the ready, a hero on a rescue mission. Merlin hadn’t even noticed it opening, too busy counting the losses and the minutes equally. The king’s expression curdled as he wordlessly scanned his betrothed and deemed him untouched. 

Merlin raised his head to acknowledge the question and froze. 

“Arthur.” 

The sight took his breath away. The king filled his Pendragon red robes to perfection, all muscle and girth from his shoulders to his feet. His arms draped casually behind his back and he’d even trimmed and styled his golden fringe for the special day. The crown reflected the light and cast a golden glow upon his face so tempting and kissable that Merlin’s own cheeks warmed. He approached Merlin directly with dancing eyes and a comforting smile. 

“Late to your own wedding, why am I not surprised?” Arthur stopped just ahead and stared down at the warlock with quiet mirth. “Gwaine’s down there _entertaining_ the court so that they don’t suspect I’ve been left at the altar.”

“Ah.” Merlin crooned. “Surely we don’t have much time before he launches into that compelling story about the hunting trip where you accidentally peed all over Percival while he slept.” 

Arthur snorted and took his place beside Merlin on their shared bed. His robes mingled with the wrinkled linens, an odd combination that reminded Merlin of their unconventional union. It’d taken surprisingly little convincing for the court to agree to their betrothal. The people already loved Arthur and many of them had known Merlin personally for years. They hardly blinked at the announcement. It seemed that their slow-burning affections for one another had not been as secretive as they’d thought. 

In the end, their love story outweighed any remaining discriminations. 

“I tripped and dumped my waterskin, Merlin. That’s hardly compelling.” 

Merlin called upon his own buried joy, clumsily hiding his robe, and sent Arthur a challenging squint. 

“That’s not the way Percival remembers it.” 

Arthur leaned to the right and knocked their shoulders together. Merlin bounced to the left and back until their arms reunited. Arthur’s eyes held Merlin captive for that moment, daring him to let down his guard. Merlin maintained his stubborn resistance, having spent years evading this tactic, and Arthur broke the contact with only mild discontent. The king scanned the room and knitted his handsome brows together. 

“I thought Gwen was to help you get ready.” 

Merlin shrugged and traced a thumb over the golden threaded dragon. It’d been Arthur’s suggestion, a personal touch to symbolize Merlin’s new position in the family and his contribution to the kingdom’s success. Merlin denied any such necessity, but the sight of that little dragon and all it represented warmed him. 

“I sent her back to Lancelot. I can dress myself.” Arthur raised a knowing brow. Merlin sighed. “I also just needed a moment.” 

The air thickened. The body beside him palpably tensed. The king stared ahead with a faraway gaze. Merlin leaned further into the broad shoulder. Arthur accepted his weight with a growing frown and plucked at the hem of his robe. 

“So, are you standing me up, then? As the king of Camelot, and the man desperately in love with you, I feel I should be the first to know.” 

There existed the usual humor behind the words, the lightness that shined between them even in the direst of circumstances. Still, Merlin recognized the edge, the fear in the question, and the very thought of losing the man instantly gutted him. 

“They were in love too, Tristan and Isolde, and then she died.” Merlin caressed the fabric on his lap and took a stunted breath. “How is he to go on? How could anything ever feel right again with such an empty person-shaped space at his side?” 

Arthur’s hand crawled atop Merlin’s and completely covered the embroidery. 

“I don’t know. Maybe it never will. They enjoyed a whole life together, though. They were happy. Those memories, they don’t disappear. Memories can keep one warm at night.” 

“I don’t want memories.” Merlin’s cheeks wet with a jolt of emotion. He abruptly stood, hugging the fabric close, and faced his beloved. “I want you, Arthur. I want your arms around me when I wake. I want your body beside mine, warming me, for the rest of my life. I want the man I love, not a figment of a time and a place that I’ll never see or touch or feel again.” 

Arthur’s face lifted entirely too calmly. His eyes, the color of the lake at moonrise, trailed down Merlin’s obstinate pose and settled upon his rigid arms. Then he stood, thrust his hands into his pockets, and gave a guarded smile as he approached. He lifted a finger and traced Merlin’s cheek so slowly that the warlock swore he must have been memorizing every angle.

“Merlin, _idiot,_ I’m right here.” Slowly the finger traveled down Merlin’s body until it joined the others in encompassing his wrist. “I’m not leaving you for any reason. We are to be husbands, kings. Everything is about to change because we fell in love. Our life together will be extraordinary, I promise.” 

Merlin twisted his hand out of Arthur’s hold and pulled away. Then he turned and cradled the fabric to his chest as if it would disintegrate if not tightly held together. 

“Every day we fight battles, Arthur. Can you promise me that you won’t die like Isolde? That you won’t leave me alone to run a bloody kingdom myself?” 

“Merlin, for once just…listen to me.” Arthur appeared ahead and, slowly, removed Merlin’s wound fingers from the robe, one by one. The warlock resisted, earning a determined glare from his other half. “Trust me?”

His resolve suddenly drained, Merlin did. The king carefully freed the robe from his tight grasp and placed it reverently upon the bed. Then he returned and claimed Merlin’s barren hands in a vice grip. 

“We’re warriors, Merlin, and we’re mortal. I can’t promise that I won’t be the first to die. However, though I don’t much care for dragons and their riddles, Kilgharrah was right about one thing- us. You are mine and you have been mine since the moment you called me a royal ass. I felt it, even if I did not understand it yet. I have to believe that this so-called destiny is strong enough to keep us together for a long time, despite the world’s constant attempts to tear us apart. You are the bravest man I know, Merlin, all I ask is that you take this risk with me.” 

Merlin met those calming blue eyes and nearly collapsed at the emotion coming from within. He still doubted, feared the unknown, but this decision had been made years ago and no threat of heartbreak or abandonment could change the course of their ship now. 

“It’s not as if I have much choice, you prat. I was yours the moment you asked me to walk on my knees.” 

Arthur smiled so beautifully that Merlin swore the room brightened. Then the king reached into his pocket and returned with a ring that matched the gold of the warlock’s eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m marrying you, you idiot. Just try to stop me.” 

Merlin shook his head. “I thought we needed witnesses from the court.” 

“Sod the court. All we need is us.”

Arthur positioned the ring at Merlin’s finger and met his eyes with loving determination. 

“Merlin Emrys, I vow to hold you in my arms every night, to keep you warm and safe, and to fight with you about who gets to die first for many years to come. I will do everything in my power to protect you and myself so that we may have a long and healthy life together. When I do die, your name will be the last word upon my lips so that my soul will awake with the purpose of reuniting with you.” 

Merlin’s breath hitched and Arthur caught his eye, silently asking permission. At his nod, the ring slipped over his knuckle and rested perfectly at the base of his finger. Arthur held it there, caressing his shaking hands, and smiled expectantly. 

Merlin clumsily padded the pockets of his silk pants until he found the little round protrusion. Sniffling, he retrieved the ring and held Arthur’s fingers still. He placed it appropriately and dug deep into his soul for the words. 

“Arthur Pendragon, I vow to remain by your side until the day I die. To be honest, faithful, and supportive of your duties as king, unless you’re planning to get yourself killed, you royal ass, in which case, I can’t promise anything.” Arthur barked a laugh. Merlin smiled stupidly. “To always make you laugh when you’re too serious. To use my magic as a force of good, as a catalyst of my love for you, and a shield that will protect you from your enemies.” He slid the ring onto Arthur’s outstretched finger, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll never give up on finding you in the next life, Arthur, no matter how long it takes.”

Then Arthur pulled Merlin in and kissed him with such burning passion that their bodies melted together to become one. Merlin threaded fingers through Arthur’s hair, mussing the perfect styling, and Arthur’s arms slid beneath his tunic and over the curves and lines of his back. When they finally parted, each man happily panted. Merlin recovered first and smoothed the blonde fringe back down.

“We put on quite a show. Too bad the court missed out.” 

Merlin couldn’t hide his smile as Arthur cupped the back of his head lovingly. 

“Yes, well, we’ll have to give them an encore. Tradition and all.” He placed one last chaste kiss upon Merlin’s swollen lips. “Do try to remember your lines, will you?” 

Then Arthur returned to the bed and retrieved the majestic robe. He faced Merlin with a smile.

“Come, let me dress _you_ for once.” 

“Are you sure you know how? Maybe I should summon Gwen? Gaius? Kilgharrah!” Merlin teased, removing his tunic swiftly.

Arthur bunched the robe up with a challenging smirk and nodded at Merlin. "Shut up and bend down, you idiot." 

The soft fabric caressed the skin of his face and neck. It grew snug right around his shoulders. “That’s the arm hole, you dollophead.” 

“Then hold still, Merlin.” Arthur muttered and readjusted. "For Camelot's sake, stop giggling!"

Merlin bit back his laughter as the robe slid over his body seamlessly, tailor made for his form. He straightened, admired the beautiful piece of clothing, and savored the feeling of the silken robe over his underthings. Arthur’s hands smoothed the fabric down with breathtaking reverence, creating a new distraction. Then he raised his head to a sight that tightened his chest and hastened his pulse. 

Arthur stood worryingly still, mouth agape and eyes wide and glassy. His cheeks pinkened and his chest rose and fell at a rapid pace. He lightly licked his lips while slowly dragging his drunken gaze from Merlin’s head to his feet. Then the king's body gave a near imperceptible shutter that sent a chill through Merlin.

“Arthur?” 

The spell broken, Arthur exhaled, swallowed, and shook himself awake. Then he rubbed the back of his head with his palm and spoke distantly. 

“Come along then. We shant leave Gwaine in charge of the council for too long or they may stage a coup.” 

Merlin met his husband’s eyes one last time and they shared an understanding smile.

“Indeed. Wouldn’t want them to find out about the time you led a rousing chant of ‘Long Live the King’ after you won a drunken game of Passage at the tavern.”

“ _Mer_ lin!” 

A muscled arm hooked around the warlock’s shoulders and strong fingers rubbed playfully through his hair. Then the two kings wrestled their way down the corridor and into their new life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or the characters within. I've altered canon a bit to better accomodate the Merthur story. Also, Aggravaine does not exist in this telling and Lancelot is still alive and with Gwen. 
> 
> Author's Note: Thanks for reading! I mention Passage in this chapter, a dice game played often during this time period. I'm not sure if its the exact game played in the show, but it sounded close enough. Enjoy and please let me know what you think!


	9. For You, I Choose to Live

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the events of "Diamond of the Day: Part 1," Arthur prepares to face his destiny at Camlann and Merlin pleads for the life of his husband and their future together. A night of shared love teaches them where destiny ends and choice begins.

“Wait for me.” 

Arthur lifted glassy eyes from the stack of paperwork on his desk and met another set of baby blues with exasperation. The raven-haired man stood with his shoulders back and his jaw painfully tense beneath his jutting cheekbones. The luscious lips stretched in a thin line that threatened to dramatically leap from the edge into a mighty frown and a string of practiced words perched just past that barrier prepared for their chance to fly. 

He recognized that exact expression from the many times the warlock had followed his king into impossible situations that nearly resulted in his own death. 

Arthur would not allow this to be one of those times. 

“We’ve discussed this, Merlin.” He leaned back in his chair and rubbed fiercely at his own drawn face. “You know I cannot wait for your return. This is war and we must meet it head on. Camelot needs me.” 

Merlin ground his fingernails into his palms, marched around the desk, and tensed his body in preparation for the launch. 

“What about me, your husband? I need you too, you dollophead! The dragon said…” 

Arthur raised a hand to stop the speech. Merlin’s face wrinkled and, for once in his life, he swallowed his own words. 

“I know what the dragon said, Merlin.” He blocked the warlock’s path with a defensive posture, preparing his chest to absorb the expected push. “What’s foretold does not always come to pass.” 

Merlin slammed a hand down upon the wooden surface, displacing a few papers and startling Arthur’s heart into a palpitation. The youthful face now creased with the dread of war and the exhaustion of powerlessness. How the years of battles and betrayals had hardened them both. Tears swam just beneath Merlin's angry glare and Arthur noted his first step into the abyss. 

“We did. We came to pass, you and I. Arthur, please. You’ll need me there to help.” 

Arthur bit his cheek, swallowed the bitter taste, and pulled himself up from the creaky chair. He faced his partner with warm, understanding eyes and allowed the desperate clenching of talons around his shirt collar. He never once flinched, but took his partner’s pain like a king, a husband, should. 

“Without your powers, you’ll only be a target. I cannot lead an army effectively knowing that the man I love is in danger.” He reached for Merlin’s hands, still gripping the fabric, and sighed when the other man pulled away. “I hate the idea of leaving you behind, Merlin, but you need to get your magic back. Gwaine will be your protection and you must promise me that you’ll remain by his side.” 

Merlin’s pout rivaled all others and it took all of Arthur’s resolve to not give in to his demands. He understood the prophecy and could only hope that it would not come to pass. Still, if his death meant that Merlin could live, fully as himself, then it would all be worthwhile. 

“It’s not fair, Arthur.” Merlin raked shaky fingers through his raven hair and paced from the desk to the window. Arthur watched, and patiently waited. “I was born to protect you, to ensure your destiny. We lost people we loved and nearly lost each other. Finally, we’re happy and now we’re to be torn apart again? This can’t be our fate. I won’t accept it. If you die…well I won’t do as fate says any longer. I refuse!”

Arthur barked a laugh and shook his head. This only fed Merlin’s drive and he stalked back over like a starving predator. The lanky body invaded Arthur’s space, though not uncomfortably, and Merlin nearly snarled his next words. 

“Great, I’m thrilled that you find the prospect of your own death so amusing.” 

Arthur crossed his arms and wiped and errant tear from the corner of his eye. 

“Well it’s not as if you’ve ever followed orders before, have you?” Arthur gripped Merlin’s face in his hands and, despite his resistance, rested their foreheads together. “Destiny can only take us so far, Merlin. The rest is ours to decide. We’re together because we made a choice. You chose to intervene in my juvenile antics, rather idiotically I might add, and I decided to tease you relentlessly until you fell madly in love with me. If either of us had made different choices along the way, we wouldn’t be husbands, fate or not.” 

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “So, we’re married because you acted like a royal ass?” 

“Indeed.” Arthur released his partner, put on his most charismatic smile, and fixed the unseemly mop of black hair. “Best decision of my life.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Stop being charming, cabbagehead, I’m serious.” 

Arthur leaned in and kissed his adorable sulk. 

“As am I. Not a day goes by that I am not grateful to be your husband, you stubborn, too brave for your own good, _idiot._ I certainly don’t wish to die and I’ll do everything possible to stay alive and with you.” Arthur trailed his fingers down to the hem of Merlin’s shirt and traced the warm skin beneath. Merlin gave one last, valiant attempt at flight before sagging into the prince's strong hold. “Let’s savor this night, shall we? Hold me in our bed, let me love you.” 

“I won’t accept your goodbyes.” Merlin gripped Arthur’s waiting hands like a cliffside on his way down. “We have to fight this, Arthur. Please, please promise me you’ll stay away from Mordred. Leave him to me.” 

Arthur squeezed back until he nearly left bruises on those delicate palms. He traced the soft skin from the middle fingers down to the raging pulse just beneath. Their hearts pounded in rhythm and it gave Arthur a semblence of hope that the fates might be on their side. Merlin, eyes rimmed in red and bruised from lack of sleep, willed his answer forward. Arthur wanted nothing more than to soothe all his fears.

“I will fight for us, Merlin. As long as my heart beats, I will never stop.” Arthur poured everything into one, sad smile. “Regarding Mordred, I will do what I can to keep my distance until you arrive. I'll even keep Leon nearby to watch my back. That’s all I can promise.” 

Slowly, Merlin’s mood shifted. He reluctantly stepped into Arthur’s waiting arms and set to work unbuckling his belt. The king raised his arms, strong enough to carry them both to solid ground, and an eyebrow as the strap fell away and set his shirt free. He quirked a lip when Merlin set the leather piece aside, sighed into the triangle of exposed flesh on his chest, and attacked the laces of his trousers.

“Wasting no time, I see?” 

“Shut up, clotpole.” Arthur caught the little quirk of Merlin’s lips at the nickname. “I still believe your chivalry borders on suicidal and its utterly foolish of you to go into this battle without me.” Arthur’s trousers hit the floor with a dull whoosh. “I also happen to love you desperately and if you were to die, then I would never forgive myself if I didn’t lie with you when you needed comfort.” 

Arthur’s shirt, the last of his armor, inched over his head and he stood, wearing only his underthings, before the man worth a thousand deaths and a thousand rebirths. He studied Merlin’s shining eyes and trembling lips, searing them into his memory. He counted himself blessed to have spent so many nights enveloped in those arms, countless mornings greeted by fingertips sparking against his belly, and unforgettable battles fought and won with this warlock by his side.

They'd broken every rule to love each other, taken power from all who challenged their bond. They could do it once more.

“So, are you just going to stand there gaping like a toad or actually undress me like a proper husband?” 

Arthur smirked and gripped the younger man’s loosely hanging belt, tugging playfully until he earned a shy smile, and unbuckled it with ease. His adoring gaze never left Merlin’s face as he devested him of his Pendragon red shirt, exposing lean muscle and skin the color of ivory. Transfixed, he knelt at the feet of his betrothed and carefully picked apart the knots in his boots. Merlin looked on, lips slightly apart and cheeks pink, as Arthur freed his feet one by one and then, still kneeling and absolutely flushed with lust, moved onto the laces of his trousers. 

They fell to the floor in torturous slow motion and gave him the most breathtaking view. 

Like a man at the base of a cliff, he glimpsed a future so fraught with hope and possibility that no challenge, vendetta, or destiny would keep him from reaching its peak. 

Arthur whispered one last reassurance as he lifted his lover into the safety of their marriage bed. 

“For you, Merlin, I choose to live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or Arthur or anyone mentioned in this fic.
> 
> Author's Note: I apologize for the delay in this update! I'm back now, though, and prepared to finish this series. There will be one more chapter after this set in "Diamond of the Day: Part 2." Also, don't worry. I will not now or ever kill either of these boys. My goal is to give them a happy ending, always.


	10. Love Held Them Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle commences at Camlann and Arthur survives, thanks to Merlin’s recovered magic. On their first night free of destiny’s grasp, the king and the warlock take to their tent and undress each other one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin or any of the characters within this fiction. 
> 
> Authors's Note: So sorry for the delay in finishing this fic! I hope this happily ever after makes up for it. Thanks for reading, reviewing, and clicking that kudos button. Merlin really is the best fandom. :)

A pile of wet, bloodstained clothing littered the floor of the tent. 

Carelessly discarded armor, dented and caked in Pendragon red, formed a metal trail from the heavy fabric door to the corner, where bandages and empty potion bottles adorned the cot. In the middle of the space, plush crimson linens bridged the gap from the dirt to the edge of the bed where the sorcerer lay bare and breathless upon the chest of his husband.

Merlin’s head rose and fell with every haggard exhale that passed Arthur’s lips. His lids threatened to close as a strong and steady heartbeat calmed his frayed nerves. He'd come so close to loosing everything- his magic, Arthur. _Arthur,_ whose warm hand carded lazily and reverently through Merlin's raven hair. The king’s full lips parted to displace the fringe with a question.

“Do you remember the day we met, Merlin?” 

The warlock raised his face to greet eyes that held the color and depth of oceans. A sheen of wetness lingered over them, remnants of a near-fatal injury. It never fully escaped down his cheeks, still too pale despite the afterglow of their lovemaking. Merlin had resisted, worried about his husband’s fragile wound that had only barely mended, but Arthur, fresh from the claws of death, needed to be held and loved. Merlin found he could deny the man nothing in the end. 

For only love held them up when prophecy shifted the ground beneath their feet. 

Merlin traced a muscle-framed collarbone and quirked his lips into a pained smile.

“How could I forget? You banished me to the dungeon, you prat.” Nimble fingers returned to Arthur’s side, carefully peeling away the bandage. The pink skin around the stab wound, held together by twine and the will of his magic, twisted into what would become a haggard scar. One more in an endless series. “I’m surprised Gaius didn’t send me immediately back to Ealdor.”

Arthur’s belly pulsed with silent laughter. 

“You called me an ass and tried to sock me. What else was I to do?”

“Not been a royal ass, for a start.” Arthur scoffed, his face alight with mirth. The warlock’s insides melted at the desired response. He bit his lip and pressed the area around the wound with a feather touch, searching for signs of infection. The dragon’s fire may have healed the sword’s curse, but it did nothing for the torn flesh. “I’ll have to fetch more of Gaius’ salve. Your wound is too dry.” 

“That can wait until morning. Stop fussing.” Fingers gripped Merlin’s wrist and stilled his hand over the curve of Arthur’s peck. Merlin rolled his eyes but complied. “Tell me Merlin, why did you stand by me in the beginning? You had every reason to hate me.” 

Merlin dragged his gaze from the wound to Arthur’s face. His lips rested in a thin straight line and his cobalt eyes twinkled, the candles’ reflection flickering in the clear whites. 

“I could never hate you, Arthur. Believe me, I tried.” Arthur tensed. Merlin quirked his lips and placed his other hand over Arthur’s in quiet reassurance. “I always loved you, you dollophead. Even when you saw me as just a servant. When you acted like a complete prat. When you did not love me yet. I loved you from the moment I first undressed you and not only because of your body. You treated me with softness, kindness, and in that moment, I saw the honorable, gracious man that you would become.” 

Arthur’s body relaxed under Merlin’s gentle touch. His lips turned down and he eyed their connected hands in quiet deliberation. “Something awoke inside of me that day, Merlin. An instinct. I needed to protect you, take care of you, just as desperately as I would myself. I ascribed it to the prophecy, once I learned. Now I see that I did love you even then and I wasted so much time.”

Merlin replaced the bandage with care and crawled towards the pillows until he lay on his side and facing the love of his life. Arthur shifted so their naked bodies touched at every angle possible, causing the warlock’s stomach to flutter in a pleasant way. 

“We did it, Arthur.” The warlock dragged his palm over the king’s pale cheek, quietly checking for fever. “We defeated the prophecy. You’re alive. Does it matter who fell in love first?”

Arthur removed his husband’s hand and cradled it between their chests. “What I mean to say, Merlin, is that I didn’t understand love back then. I knew only of my father and his decree of duty over emotion. You deserved better. From now on, until the day I die, I will spend every moment showing you just how much you mean to me. You have my word.” 

Merlin leaned in and captured those succulent lips in a chaste kiss. It turned heated when Arthur snaked a hand behind the younger’s head and pulled him close. The sweet taste of Gaius’ pain tonic lingered on Merlin’s tongue when they parted. He met Arthurs’ fervent gaze and swallowed his desire. 

“You show me every day, Arthur. You make room in your kingdom for magic. You took me, a warlock, as your husband and you treat me as an equal in the court. I could only dream of such recognition before you. I never doubted that you loved me, not even when you acted like a pompous clotpole.”

Arthur’s chapped lips formed an amused, toothy smile. “Don’t ever change, Merlin.” 

“Not likely, _sire._ ” Arthur shivered, alerting Merlin to the miles of bare, dimpled skin beneath the thin blanket. “Now, as much as I enjoy gazing upon your naked body, you’ll fall ill if I leave you in this state.” 

Merlin pushed up from the bed and met the cold floor with bare feet, ignoring the alluring way Arthur bit his lip as he pulled on his undergarments. Stepping over an errant gauntlet to reach the trunk, he extracted a long-sleeved cream nightshirt and a pair of soft matching trousers. On the way back, Merlin plucked a jar of salve and avoided glancing at the cot-still drenched in his husband’s blood. 

Arthur had chased their new servant out before he could clean up the mess. Too much of a bootlicker, he bellowed.

“Come on, then. Up you get. Let’s dress you.” 

Merlin’s lanky arms hooked beneath Arthur’s shoulders and hoisted his torso up and against the headboard. The king winced with the movement and rolled his eyes but did not resist. “You really were the worst servant ever.” 

Merlin’s insides churned at the return of their banter as he carefully, slowly draped the shirt over the blonde’s head to ensure no further injury.

“Indeed. The utter worst. Shall I send for George?” He stripped the sheet away and threaded the trousers over Arthur’s legs, one at a time, pausing only to send a flirtatious grin upwards when he covered the king’s nether region. Those warm, adoring eyes followed his every move, twisting his stomach into pleasurable knots. 

“Don’t threaten your husband, _Merlin._ It’s treason.” 

He heard Arthur’s smirk and raised him a scoff. 

“I would never.” Their eyes met from a distance and an understanding bloomed between. Merlin saw their destiny laid out in a complicated mess of twists and turns all leading to this moment and beyond. A tale that would outlive the world itself. “Besides, none of the servants are willing to endure your morning grumpies. I’ll be the one dressing you until the end of time, so you might want to get used to it.” 

Merlin straddled Arthur before he could respond and adjusted the shirt to expose the wound. He spread a layer of salve over the parted skin and observed, with muted relief, how it already seemed to be lacing back together. Arthur would most certainly live. Merlin's contented smile broke as thick fingers abruptly curled around his ear and lured him down. A choked, breathy whisper escaped Arthur’s lips.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

The words warmed Merlin’s body like the sun of a new day as he smoothed the night shirt down one last time and pulled the blanket atop them both.


End file.
